I Am The Worst Sort Of Person
by LibraMoon
Summary: He was the nation of love, but mostly, he was just plain mean. For The Awesome Roxy. A story with angst, romance, humor, and a slightly more realistic take on love between two nations with a rocky past. Featuring FrancexFem!America. Rated M, for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**Per Request, for FrancexFemAmerica! I hope this is what you were hoping for, but it go angsty, I have no idea what is wrong with me! For the Awesome Roxy.**_

_**I own nothing. Rated M. **_

OoOoOo

Normal.

It had become normal to mock America.

Normal to blame her for leaping into action, or blaming her for not leaping into action. Either way, it had all boiled down to somehow being the star-spangled nation's fault. France had long since accepted and adopted the mindset that other countries carried on a daily basis.

So, when he had made yet another comment about how America was the bully and an idiot... he had not expected that he would be the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

She stood abruptly, cutting off his cruel words effectively. The look on her face was a disheartening thing to behold, and it had him hypnotized.

"You know," America said softly, holding back the tears that glittered in her eyes. "For a country known for love... you are really, really _mean."_

France's thoughts paused, practically thunderstruck by the way America said it. Such a potent and childish comment. Innocent and yet accusatory. However, it wormed its way into his heart and stayed there. It vibrated with the pain and sadness she felt.

His expression mirrored the shock he felt. He could only watch helplessly as America gathered her things together. Other nations jeered and laughed in the background, agreeing with France's litany of transgressions America was somehow responsible for.

Her blonde cowlick bobbed in time with her hands clasping her papers and binders to her chest. She was already moving toward the door with wounded pride and what little dignity she could scrape together. America reached for the handle with one hand, keeping everything close to her chest with her other arm. She yanked the door open, and France could only watch passively as it nearly came off its hinges.

America blushed with embarrassment, and bit her lip. Her features twisted once more, and France nearly panicked internally that the female nation was so close to openly crying. She clenched her jaw, he could see that she wasn't looking at any other nation. Some of her allies looked pained upon her behalf.

She tilted her chin upward and walked through the threshold. The door gave a deafening slam behind her rough pull.

There was a soft silence left in her wake. Until some countries started mocking America's dramatic exit. France normally might have joined in, for his relations with America had degraded considerably in the last 60 years. However, seeing the mural of emotions that flashed across her face with those tears...

France never liked making women cry.

And, his taunting and open criticism of her country had reduced what he thought to be an overly proud nation... to tears.

_Merde. _

He covered the lower half of his face with his hand. He contemplated her exit, feeling rather horrible for the whole ordeal. But it was normal to yell at America and point out her flaws. All too common, in fact...

It left an uneasy feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach.

It would be fair to say that he was not very pleased with America. And, perhaps, it would also be correct to state that he had often complained about several aspects of the country.

Loudly, and mayhap, repeatedly...

The only place he even bothered to really recognize her was for New York, with fashion-though he was still the pioneer on such things, obviously-, and Nappa Valley.

Wine.

In fact, it had taken him decades to acknowledge that America actually could produce very decent and even superior wines to his own. It had been a large upset to his people, and so, to him. The look of near pride radiating from her when a wine from Nappa Valley had bested his time honored vineyards had been almost graciously done.

It was the Paris Tasting of 1976. It had been a blind tasting. France had been overly confident in his supremacy. However when it came to the Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay from California being compared against the best wines of Bordeaux and Burgundy from his established crafters... he had lost. The judges had given top honors to Chateau Montelena Chardonnay and Stag's Leap Wine Cellars Cabernet Sauvignon.

America hadn't boasted about it, or been crass at the judgment. If he were wholly honest, she appeared almost afraid that he wouldn't allow her people to keep the award. France had been unprepared for her to beat him in anything.

She had shyly attempted to chat with him about imports when it was over. France hadn't wanted to even entertain the option. However, he could still recall the soft blush on her features as she nervously adjusted Texas with a small smile.

He had quickly voiced his rejection. America's smile had fallen, but she'd nodded all the same.

"Yeah," the female nation said after a bit. "I understand."

That had been the end of it, until he actually had started importing her wines, which were rather good. Though he refused to say as much out loud.

Rousing from the memory, France stared at the door, which hung nearly off the hinges after its harsh treatment. The other nations around him carried on as if nothing happened. It was all business as usual. There was yelling, arguing, and threats on all sides. Some of them mixed with thinly-veiled insults.

Perfectly normal.

Except, France was haunted by the look of sheer hurt on America's face and those damming tears.

Suddenly, France did not enjoy 'normal' quiet so much. It made the sick feeling in his stomach intensify when he realized that no one even bothered to yell at him for hurting her feelings. He wasn't certain how to comprehend that.

OoOoOo

He showed up in New York. He also knew that America would be there.

Whenever things turned out badly, he had noticed, she retreated to her 'heart'. Mostly to lick her emotional wounds until she bounced back as if nothing happened. He had assumed that was what she would do this time as well.

Except, that she hadn't come back to the next meeting. Or the one after that. Nor, France was worried to say, the one after that. She had all her calls forwarded to her secretary, and her voice mail was changed to its standard answering message. America had not even spared time to meet with Canada, who had warned France to leave her be for a while.

Though the two were friends, or at least largely involved with trade, Canada preferred to give America her space when she was upset.

And, France would have listened under most circumstances, but the image of America's teary eyes had haunted him. He felt awful about the whole ordeal. He was the country of love and lovers, yet he had made a woman cry. That was not on par with his flirtatious behavior and charm. In fact, he should have had America swooning over his suave and manly ways.

England had not commented on America's lack of appearance at the meetings. Though several other countries had made jokes about the whole fiasco. Her absence was met with jeers and more arguments. Frankly, France was beginning to get a headache.

Also, he still felt... rather guilty...

Guilt had no place in the country of love! He planned to apologize, get things back on track with America being her loud and obnoxious self. Then he'd lose his temper so would she, and they would be back to quipping at each other on a nearly daily basis.

Back to normal. Well, the _normal _normal.

He purchased a small bouquet of flowers. Women were often more inclined to soften their wrath when presents were offered. He smoothed his hair down one more time. America's coast was windy and the salt was playing havoc on his perfectly groomed locks.

He rapped on the door briskly, as he looked around the scenery. It was a simple brownstone with Victorian architecture. Was this a... row house... or some such nonsense?

The door groaned, as he heard the locks on the door being undone. The door opened, and a familiar face with bright blue eyes looked at him. First at shock, and then with nearly murderous rage.

Ah... she was still upset.

He tried to push the flowers at her, but she narrowed her gaze at him. The female nation did not move.

"America!" France said with a roguish grin, " I wanted to-"

She shut the door in his face. France blinked at the white door that separated him from America. Talk about rude! This woman. He frowned heavily, but decided that there was a possibility that he had deserved that.

He took a deep breath and knocked again.

"America?"

"Go away," she stated in a muffled voice.

"America," France said patiently, part of his hopes for them patching things up deflated. This was not looking promising.

Well, this made bringing flowers a touch more awkward. He knocked on the door, a bit harder this time.

"_Fuck off_ frog." She growled angrily and France stiffened at the insult.

She was a rude little bit of bossy goods, then, wasn't she? He nearly pouted. Nearly. However, he was much to debonair for that. No. He had to make America see reason. However, he would not abide speaking through the door.

"I want to apologize."

She scoffed. He glowered at the white, innocent, door. Growing more irritated.

He cleared his throat.

"I want to apologize for what I said the last time we saw each other."

Silence met his declaration. France shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"At least allow me to do so without the door between us."

He waited, listening for even a slight noise. Slowly, after a few tense moments, the door opened once more. America continued to glare at him.

"I think that," he flashed a toothy grin and showed his most dashing side. "We had a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" She deadpanned.

He tried to offer her the flowers again, this time America spared a look that suggested she thought they were poison. Something fluttered in his chest uncomfortably. A tight and searing but hot emotion. He did not like the fact that America did not trust something so innocuous as a bouquet.

If he didn't know any better, he would have thought she'd never received them before. Which was preposterous because...

Because...

France's mind stalled, trying to recall a single time America had been given flowers in his presence. In fact, he could not recall even hearing about her getting flowers. He mentally attempted to summon memories of times where she had been courted by other nations.

They gave her...

Nothing.

Why could he not think of a single instance? He quickly pushed the question away. Instead he gave a self-assured laugh.

"Come now, take the flowers." He said nearly coyly.

America grudgingly reached out her hand for them. He noticed that her eyes lingered on the fragrant petals a moment longer. Her blue eyes flicked to him once more, and Texas was perched proudly on her nose. He handed over the bouquet with an elegant flare.

She closed her hand into a fist around the stems. An uncertainty on her face that was not fully masked by the anger she radiated. America clenched her teeth and noticed France's smiling face.

"You can come inside," she said with only the bare minimum amount of politeness required.

"With pleasure!" He practically crowed with pride. He knew that she was not immune to his charms. He watched as America stepped back and allowed him entrance.

And, as his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he was nearly struck mute.

There were tasteful decorations everywhere. Colors in neutral warm tones that made it feel homey and comfortable. The European nation was at a loss. He had expected to see red, white, and blue everywhere. Her flag was proudly displayed over the fireplace, but it was tasteful and mature.

He ... had not expected that.

America shut the door behind him, and set the flowers down on the table near the entry way.

"Okay, why are you really here?" She demanded.

France's brows furrowed at the fact she had just set them down. She did not put them in water, or go to fetch a vase. The male nation was uncertain at how to interpret that. Was it an insult at him? Or not?

It was hard to tell with America. She was an unpredictable sort. Like how she had managed to get him to fly all the way to New York to apologize. Even though, some would argue that everything he'd said was warranted.

However, they had not been haunted by the sight of her crying. Something he knew must have cost her dearly to have happened.

"To apologize," he replied, arching a brow at her skepticism. Honestly, it was as if she expected him to hurt her feeling again. Or to have some ulterior motive.

Internally he frowned at the thought. America wouldn't really feel that way toward him. Would she? He hadn't been the friendliest nation toward her but he certainly hadn't been the worst. Of course not! He was France. He was culture, love, and art personified.

And utterly gorgeous, thank you very much.

America snorted in disbelief.

"Yeah, alright." She rolled her eyes. "So is there a camera hidden somewhere? Or is this for a whole 'humiliate America' contest between the nations?"

"What are you talking about?" He asked curiously.

"Never mind," America retorted with her voice straying into forced neutrality.

"You can tell me," he coaxed, wanting to ease the tense air between them. It was nearly stifling, and she acted as if he were a wild animal that would lash out against her at any moment.

She gave him a sour look.

"Tell you?" America asked, with a ghost of an unnamable emotion passing between them. "No, I really don't think that is even possible."

"Why not?" France asked, tilting his head to the side, smiling at her with a disarming sweetness.

It had the opposite effect of what he had hoped would happen. Instead of swooning for his good looks and sheer brilliance, America started crying again. Her anger melted into unrepentant sadness and loneliness.

France felt himself panic. Only a little bit, mind you.

"Why not? Are you serious right now? Oh my god! You've made it clear you hate everything about me," she snapped out, brushing the traitorous tears that fell with the back of her hand.

It nearly crushed France to see her in such a state.

Her blue eyes were so heartbreakingly sad that he wanted to gather her up in his arms.

"You think I'm stupid. You think I'm lazy. Or fat. Gosh I don't even know which is worse. You complain that my taste for food sucks. I have no fashion sense. I'm mule-headed. You ride my back about foreign polices and... and..."

When her voice broke, France could not stand to hear anymore. He moved before he was aware of the action.

"Shh," he soothed with a deep tone. He pulled America close as she began to openly weep. What a tragic thing. His brows furrowed as France came to the conclusion that he had been much too hard on a country that had always been called upon.

Yet, somehow the mood changes from wanting to simply comfort the distressed nation. The gentler and more pure aspects of France just want to provide her with arms to hold her. She seemed unstable under the weight of even a smidgen of kindness.

It was hard to bare.

He swallowed tightly, feeling the first hot pinpricks of moisture in his own eyes. He was moved at how much America felt. he had always considered his showing of sarcasm to be a compliment. That he was comfortable enough to be himself around her. However, in the wake of this fiasco, he was left with the bitter and late understanding that America had never seen it that way.

To her, he truly was just being 'mean'.

He'd assumed that she was a country used to the teasing, and possessing of thick skin, but as she trembled in his embrace, France knew it was not so. America was actually sensitive to the snide comments. Wounded by the constant disapproval of her.

Time seemed to slow, and he crooned at her softly. Words of comfort and praise. He told her she was truly a unique nation and a lovely woman. That is why he had gifted her the Statue of Liberty. He had... always cared for her.

In some manner or another. He had protected her back when she was still very young. He had tried to guide her. However, time and events in history had made that an impossibility. America had also isolated herself for a great deal of time.

France had mostly forgotten about her and who she used to be to him. He stroked her golden locks as he felt the nearly overwhelming flood of shame enter his chest. A deeper level of awareness entered his thoughts, and he realized that he had missed holding America like this.

As if he were the only one she could count on. Before that preposterous England had taken over caring for her. They all knew how that had turned out.

He pulled back, watching as she slowly raised her head. Her sobs had ceased and she gazed at him with quiet humility. The sweetness of her scent, the softness of her skin, and her shy demeanor at this moment were not lost upon the male nation.

France did find parts of America beautiful. How could he have forgotten? He smiled gently, confident charm radiated from every inch of him. He did not have the words to apologize, but perhaps he could show his sincerity with his body?

A kiss perhaps? Just to soothe the lingering questions and hurt in her eyes. As a nation of love, he could not abide knowing that America had known so precious little of it.

"France?" America hiccupped gently. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" He asked with low sensuality. "I'm going to kiss you and make it better."

Her blue eyes widened at his declaration.

"You...you can't."

"Why?"

"Because.. you..." her features twisted once more as she looked ready to burst into a fresh round of tears. "You hate me."

"Non," France denied nearly instantly. "I do not hate you."

She did not appear to believe his words, if the expression on her face was anything to go by.

"I do not hate you America," the European nation said much more seriously.

The female nation gave a small, nearly a whine of distress.

"Then do not do this to me."

"Do what to you?"

She looked down and away. The lines of her body screaming that she was ready for him to verbally attack her again.

"Pretend to be nice to me. Even being kind. Acting like you like me, when we both know that it's not true." Her words never reached above a whisper. As if she were incapable of voicing the gentle plea any louder.

If she had been wielding a sword instead of words, France would have been cut down.

And France-

Felt utterly lost.

"Let me love you," he murmured, without thinking about the words.

America startled, and glanced back up at him. Faint smudges of her tears lingered on Texas. She took a step backward, her face changing from sorrow to alarm, and then to anger.

"What?" Her blue eyes hardened. "_Is _this some sort of game? Another joke at my expense? What are you gaining by coming here? Or _who _are you working with?"

France suppressed a gasp at the blatant shift in her manners from vulnerable to paranoid. Internally he knew that he had crossed a boundary with his simply question. He had made America even more on edge.

"Nothing," he said trying to reach past the emotional barriers she was already erecting around her heart. "No one."

"Russia?"

"No."

"China?" She asked with another slight hiccup.

"No, America. No."

An emotion flickered across her face, and for the quickest second in time, France thought it might have been hope. She swallowed as she took another step away from him. The male nation bit his lip, concerned that he was losing what little bit of headway he actually had with the defensive nation.

"Go home France," America said with hurt shining behind the tough exterior. "You've said your apology. Thank you for the flowers. Now, go home."

"I.." The European nation floundered, "I..."

"You what?" She asked, her blue eyes hardened with a keen sense of disillusionment.

France scrambled for something to say. Anything at all. Normally his silver tongue enthralled legions of women and their hearts were his for the plucking. However, America seemed immune to the words of amour he repeated countless times. Even his honest request fell upon a heart far too weakened by constant upset to comprehend what he wanted to show her.

"Little America," He said, when his voice finally found itself again. Her gaze never left his and it was the whole of their two worlds hanging on his words.

"Let me love you," France tried again, pouring every ounce of affection he had ever felt toward the star-spangled nation into those four small words.

A soft blush colored her cheeks. America made no move toward him, but he watched the sharpness of her gaze as it slowly faded. In its place was the naive expression she'd held when she was still England's colony. The nearly imperceptible beginnings of trust ...

For him.

"Stop being a pervert," America grumbled, the breath she had been holding let out in a silent rush of air. "I'm not going to do you any political favors."

He stiffened, clearly insulted by her insinuation, but at the same time he understood that America was still doing what she did best. Trying to distance herself from the pain she felt certain was coming. Inescapable, and unavoidable.

However, he was a nation that had seem hundreds of years pass by. He had been home to countless pairs of lovers and hard times. So France knew when he was being tested. The way America shifted slightly toward him, let him discern that he was not entirely being shut out.

A slow and kind smile blossomed on his lips. He took in the blush on her pretty face and the fact that she had been willing to allow him to hold her. There was promise in that.

"I'm not going to simply go away," he said, ignoring her jibe about politics.

The barest hints of relief flashed in her eyes and France knew he would wait one hundred years if it meant showing America what love was really all about. 


	2. Chapter 2

**_For the Awesome Roxy._**

**_I own nothing. Rated M. _**

OoOoOo

France stood outside, in his modest garden that had a spectacular view of his lands, with a heavy sense of deeper thought.

How did one woo an American?

Was he supposed to buy large gifts? A lot of gifts? Would gifts be seen as demeaning? It was terribly difficult to tell with America. One moment she adored the flowers and the romance, then the next her women claimed to be 'independent' but still wanted to be treated with tender care. Or wanted to be treated 'equally' until they were held to the same accountability as men, but then it was suddenly unacceptable to treat them that way because they were women. In short, America's women, much like America...

Confused him to no end.

Honestly, it was usually so easy. He whispered words of love and promises he did not fully intend to keep, but that simply would not do with a nation that could mobilize a massive army with very little warning. In fact, a nation that would grin with wicked delight as he writhed in sheer pain, though that did fuel some of his S&amp;M fantasies for later. Ah. He could picture the way her blue eyes would glimmer with malice. He proceeded to cringe at the thought. Not that he was _afraid _of America. To the contrary, he had found her to be a feisty, if not mouthy, little thing.

Ah ha! He would simply do what all her Hollywood movies suggested. Those were insights to how America viewed love, correct? They were slightly childish and far blown, a bright sort of love that petered out over time. Largely influenced by the likes of England, no doubt.

So, he called up his favorite little shop, in the heart of wondrous Paris, and ordered some very expensive bottles of perfume, intent upon surprising America at the next meeting. She had still been a tad frosty toward him, and France was hopeful that this would help sweeten her temper.

He packed it carefully in his luggage, and made certain to keep them safe the whole way to the UK. He was delighted, and humming to himself, envisioning America's cute face lit up in sheer delight. Ah! It would be magnificent. Indeed. After all, it was he who was giving the gift. Her blue eyes would be clouded with undying admiration.

At least, that is what his day dream said.

However, when he arrived to the meeting, glanced around for his soon-to-be-love. She was chatting with Estonia and South Korea. France hummed to himself, and pulled out a bottle of French Perfume, and he would let her sample some for the day. Whenever she caught a whiff of this heavenly scent, she would think of him. Thus allowing the seeds of love to sprout even more.

He waved to her happily. She blushed, and then scowled, before he caught sight of the slight smile on her lips. France wondered momentarily if she still had the flowers he had given her. He envisioned her staring at them with the same color on her cheeks, desperately hoping that his suave European charm would wash over her once more. He grinned to himself.

"Bonjour!" He said with a seductive look on his handsome features.

America blinked, and that sweet shyness from before was lost.

"Hey dude." She greeted, a touch warmer than 'fuck off Frog'. So this was progress, no?

"Oh come now," he pouted gently. "Could you not give something a touch more... sweet?"

The Star-spangled nation backed up a step. Clearly at a loss. Her face was adorable with it's uncertainty and she glanced away.

"Uh.. I really don't know if-"

"After all," France continued with an artistic flair to the way he swept his arm. "I have brought you a present."

Her demeanor changed quickly. She looked curious, inspite of herself, as well as a little excited. She turned toward him a little more, and in three steps, she had crossed the distance between them. Some of the other nations looked quite taken aback by how they were not taking pot-shots at each other. France hated America.

Didn't he?

Then why was America going near him, with the same delicate uncertainty of a new born fawn just seeing the world for the first time. France's heart was nearly melting over her cuteness.

"A present?" She chirped out happily, if not a bit shyly. "For me?"

He felt his heart throb and constrict at the earnest way she asked the question.

"Do you see any other America around here?" He teased in a manner that had the color reappearing on her cheeks. He reached out a tucked a stray lock of her hair, behind her ear.

That put the world on high alert. Something was going on, assuredly. Canada blinked, and then looked vaguely distressed by the fact that his former caretaker was coming onto a nation he'd known since he was newly formed. Also, there was the fact that America was his friend. So.. yes... It was...

Strange.

Canada found it really strange.

However, this was the first meeting America had been too in months. The other nations had taken notice of it as well. England hadn't wasted a second inquiring after her health. Her allies had rallied around her. Even Russia was in rare good spirits today and China had even nodded to America this morning. It was nearly as peaceful as the world had ever known.

Yes, there were the disparaging whispers and the insults just the same as before. However, the world seemed more out of balance with America gone than with her in it.

"No," she answered, taking his question slightly seriously. There was a sudden light in her eyes, the same one that France had glimpsed in giving her the flowers. The slight bits of paranoia floated to the surface. Her eyes flashed the feelings she was experiencing behind Texas. Hope, fear, and confusion. As well as worry. Worry that this was all some sort of horrible joke.

France never wanted her to think or feel that way again when all he wanted to do was show her love. The wonders of love. The ability to have a lover to share days with as well as nights.

"Wonderful," he said with a slight lump in his throat, trying to keep up his charm. "Then you know it is for you."

He presented her with large blue bottle, with a unique shape.

America stared at it, as if it was supposed to do something or come alive and eat her.

Hm.

"It's perfume," he said gently, after a moment.

She glanced up at him shyly, and with a false confidence that betrayed the fact she had not recognized what it was.

"O-0f course. How lovely." She murmured, reaching for it. He made a show of uncapping it and reached for her hand. America blushed brightly, and let him grasp her hand. France sprayed the sweet scent on her.

America took a delicate whiff. Only to real back and take her hand with her.

"Oh god!" She cried out and pinching her nose quickly. "It smells-"

"Delightful?"

He asked, watching her face twist. This was not how he thought she would react.

"So much!" America started coughing profusely. Her eyes were watering and she clutched at her throat.

France was slightly horrified as he saw welts starting to appear on her nearly flawless skin. America's right eye started puffing up. She wheezed out a breath.

"He-Help!"

South Korea leapt over the table, and was joined by Estonia. Both of whom were fretting over America. Japan took one look at her and went for the medical kit. Russia watched from the background, violet eyes wide and amused at the same time. A sense of glee seemed to radiate from him. However, France noticed that the quiet northern nation was looking at him and not America.

He was reveling in France's colossal flop of a courtship.

Estonia was unbuttoning the top of America's shirt as South Korea helped lower her to the floor. She was gasping for air.

"I am so sorry," France said, tossing the multiple bottles of perfume away from the in distress nation.

Japan came back with something to help relive the swelling. America arched her back, giving another labored and wheezing breath.

"What the hell was in that?" Estonia demanded angrily.

"It was just some perfumes." He replied hotly, watching America's pretty face turn redder and puffier. "Nothing harmful."

"It doesn't look that way," Canada commented gently, trying to be calming to everyone present. "What was in them?"

France searched his memory for the information, but it did not come. "I have no idea."

Canada turned away toward the discarded bottles, and picked one up. He read the back carefully. Estonia was helping America breathe as Japan gave monitored her. South Korea was speaking to her soothingly.

"Oh no," her northern neighbor said after a few tense moments.

America's breathing calmed down considerably, and her stiffness relaxed mildly. She blinked glassy blue eyes, and her head lolled to the side.

"What is it?" Estonia asked after a strained smile was given to America. She was hardly aware of what they were talking about.

"This perfume has _Ambrosia psilostachya."_

Several blank looks met his concerned statement. Canada gave them a reproachful glance. "It's a species of Ragweed."

Still no recollection flashed across a single face.

Canada grit his teeth and prayed for patience.

"The most common allergen in the United States." He stated meaningfully.

"How do you know that?" France gaped at him, feeling horrid about all this.

Russia was giggling to himself, and China was trying not to smirk as well.

"I'm part of North America..." Canada reminded them. "America and I are neighbors. Friends."

France blinked at him.

"We talk!" Canada bit out, feeling irritated for having to explain how he knew things about his own neighbor. Jerks. At least he didn't try to poison America with perfume!

The nations all glanced at each other as understanding dawned over them. South Korea was furious, and Canada was non too pleased himself. France flushed and was mortified. He was just trying to give her a special gift, something she could wear and feel beautiful about.

And, his kindness had thoroughly backfired.

Canada sighed and gave France a pat on the shoulder.

"Next time, maybe you should check the ingredients, eh?"

France covered his face with his hands, this had not gone at all as he had planned. Not even remotely. They were trying to rouse America. South Korea was gently tapping her cheek.

"America?"

"Hmmmrfffgg." She groaned out, Texas was slightly askew, and France peeked through his fingers to watch her. Japan was adjusting her glasses. and gazing at her with concern.

"America-san?"

"UUrrghh." America responded.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" South Korea asked worriedly.

"Purple." She slurred out.

Japan and Estonia's eyes widened. France moaned internally. How could this have happened?

"I'll... take her to the hospital," Canada said, blowing his curl out of his face, as he moved over to America.

"Engwand." America mumbled.

England was at her side in an instant.

"Yes poppet?"

"I wanna ride de... uni-corn." She declared, before promptly passing out. England patter her hand reassuringly before glaring at France.

OoOoOo

At the hospital, they'd given her more medication. Canada stayed by her side the whole time. France tried calling twice and sent over an apology bouquet of flowers. They had been waiting for her when she got home. Lovely blooms. With a rich and sweet scent. Delicate and amazing flowers...Which had promptly ended up in the trash.

Canada sighed as a red-faced America ran to her room, and through herself on her bed with an angry muttering. The white wrist band was bright against her skin. She had insisted on returning to the states. Unable to bear being near the other nations after what had happened.

She grumbled into her cover.

"America," Canada coaxed sweetly. "I really don't think France was trying to kill you."

She made a sound, something like a snort of disbelief before muttering something else.

"No, I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose."

A single blue eye peaked out, and stared at Canada.

The Northern nation, larger but infinitely more patient, stared back. He had an understanding smile.

"It was so embarrassing," America said shoving her face back into her arms.

"Yes," he agreed readily. "Yes it was. But, I'm sure it will all blow over. I think France just wants you to like him. He won't do anything crazy like that again, I'm sure."

OoOoOo

The country of love was staring pensively at his latest plan to win over America. The perfume had been a disaster. He was likely two steps back from where he had started. She wasn't returning his calls.

He rested his chin on his hand. Glancing at his 'second' chance at her heart.

His only wonder, was...

Was it big enough?

America was a nation that likened 'Bigger' to 'Better'.


End file.
